Innocent Weapon
by WindSurfBabe
Summary: Sequel to Lonely Soul. Everyone has something to hide. AU. DagonetOC.
1. For The Departed

Disclaimer : nothing you recognize (except Viviana, Siobhan and some others) belongs to me.

Thank you in advance for the reviews, comments and suggestions. Enjoy the story !

* * *

- 1 / For The Departed -

The small flame flickered in the cold draft, but ignited the wick of the candle. Siobhan blew happily on the stick to extinguish it, and smiled at Viviana. Setting the girl down on the stone floor, the young woman lit another small, white candle with the newly lit flame, and then two others. Picking up Siobhan again, she kissed tenderly the blonde curls, pulling loose strands of hair from the child's face. 'This is for your Mama', she whispered, 'And for my family.'

She closed her eyes, holding Siobhan tight against her, for both the girl's warmth and her own comfort. Two years ago exactly, she had been torn away from her time and her home, and had had no other choice than to start a new life at the fort. Unexpectedly, this had come as a relief to her ; she had been able at last to cast away the shadows of the past, her insecurities and her fears. As for Siobhan… The six-year old Woad child had lost her last relative, her mother, during an influenza epidemic a year ago. The girl had not uttered a word since her mother's last breath, but clung to Viviana desperately, following her around in silence. Maybe the young healer was the only face she remembered through the trauma… Viviana sometimes had the impression that Siobhan thought of her as her mother, and wondered if Siobhan knew they were not truly related. She did not wish to deceive the child, to take a place that was not rightfully hers ; she had tried to talk about it with Dagonet, but he had only shrugged. 'She needs you', he had stated simply, glancing at her gravely, trying to make her understand that her guilt and the child's well-being were entirely incompatible.

Turning her thoughts back to the altar, she shook her head to chase away the sombre memories. 'Please, dear God', she prayed, 'I have never had faith in you, and I still don't. But if you are listening… Please, watch over my family for me. Help my parents find peace, help my sister find her way. Please, let them all be happy…' she murmured, crossing herself, Siobhan imitating her gesture clumsily. Viviana looked up to the stained-glass representing the Virgin Mary. 'Please, take good care of Dervla's soul ; she was a good, loving mother for Siobhan ; she left too soon.'

She watched the few solitary candles burn in the dimly lit church. Siobhan sniffed quietly in her arms, and she pulled the woollen shawl tighter around the girl's shoulders. The great illness that had claimed so many victims the previous year had spared Siobhan, but barely, leaving her with a fragile health. Viviana suspected the child must have had a predisposition for asthma before ; now, she was still very sensitive, catching terrible colds in the middle of the summer, her breathing becoming laboured when she was under stress.

She jumped when the wooden doors slammed open, and spun around to see Galahad come running into the small church, his armour covered in mud, his eyes scanning the dimly lit nave for Viviana. Before he had time to speak, the priest of Camboglanna, young father Cornelius, burst out of the sacristy : 'How dare you besmirch the House of God with this… filth !' he quavered, wringing his hands nervously and keeping a safe distance between himself and the young knight. He knew what had happened to his predecessor, and fully-armed knights bursting uninvited into his church tended to make him jumpy. Galahad ignored him. 'Viviana', he called breathlessly, his face ashen. 'You should come. Now.'

* * *

An impassive Tristan was standing guard in front of the door. He nodded in greeting and stepped aside, motioning Viviana inside. She entered, and took in the scene before her. The dimly lit room was an unoccupied one, in the most remote part of the fort. _Why the secrecy ?_ she wondered briefly, before noticing the body lying on the bed. Her heart froze, dreadful scenes flashing instantly before her eyes, scenarios of death and grief : Dagonet, dead… One of his brothers, dead… Arthur, dead, a crying Guinevere sprawled over his body, little Mordred's eyes staring in incomprehension at his father's lifeless face… A cry of anguish stuck in her throat, she ran towards the bed, catching the bedpost with cold hands in order to stop herself. She looked upon the corpse, and almost sighed in relief when she realized that the man lying on the bed was not one she knew.

He was obviously a farmer of about fifty, with callous hands from years of hard work in the fields, and sun-tanned skin, a skin that now looked so pale in his eternal slumber. 'We found him in a small village nearby.' Viviana turned around at the sound of Galahad's voice. In the uncertain light of the torches, the young knight looked almost as pale as the dead man. He glanced briefly at the body on the bed. 'The inhabitants are scared, and frankly, seeing this, I don't blame them.' She lifted an eyebrow, and took a closer look at the corpse, searching for something unusual enough to upset a knight hardened in battle and bloodshed.

Six long, deep gashes ran across the man's neck, having most probably caused his untimely death. The cuts had obviously severed the main artery, and dark, thick blood had flown freely from the wound, soaking the man's clothes in a sticky magma ; the atmosphere around the bed smelled of iron. The farmer wore deep scratches on his palms and forearms. Viviana extended her arm, caught in some morbid fascination, almost touching the gashes, but retracted her fingers at the last instant.

'Are these… claw marks ?' the young woman asked uncertainly, and Galahad grimaced. 'Tristan says they are', he answered, glancing disapprovingly over his shoulder towards the entrance, where the silent scout stood guard. 'But I have never seen such marks before.' He sighed wearily, and ran a hand through his curly locks. 'Bloody island…' he mumbled. 'When it's not the Saxons it's the Woads. When it's not the Woads it's some other goddamned thing…'

'Could a weapon have done this ?' Viviana inquired again, cutting off his monologue, and he shrugged, smiling bitterly. 'None that I know of.'

* * *

The knights were gathered in the Table Room ; grim faces stared at her, unhappy to be called back from their evening off duty. Gawain had managed to sneak in a mug of ale, and was sipping at it contentedly. He quivered under Arthur's stern stare, and gulped down the remains of the drink hurriedly, almost choking on it. When his coughs subsided, the King of Britain looked at his men. 'As some of you might already know, Galahad and Tristan have found a body in Badbury. Viviana ?' He motioned for her to come to the centre of the room, and she stepped further into the light of the fires, shifting uncomfortably on her feet ; she had always felt uneasy when speaking in front of an audience. 'The cause of death are deep gashes on his neck. Two of the cuts appear to have severed the artery, and the man also has what looks like defensive wounds on his forearms' the young woman reported, seeking comfort in her husband's eyes. Dagonet looked as impassive as ever ; only his large, scarred hands playing with the silver band on his left ring finger betrayed his impatience. He locked his eyes with hers, and she felt the comfort he wanted to give her, sensing her nervousness.

'What kind of animal could have inflicted them ?' asked Lancelot, and she glanced briefly at Tristan, their expert in tracks and wildlife, who stood in the darkest corner of the room, propped against a pillar. 'I am not sure if it is an animal at all', she said cautiously. In the silence that followed this declaration, she proceeded to explain : 'There are six parallel gashes, all inflicted from right to left, that is to say : by someone right-handed. And since I know no beast wearing six claws, I think that it is the work of a human. Someone who could have cut his neck five more times after delivering the lethal blow. Does the number six have a special significance for any of you ?'

Arthur looked around the room, but all the knights shook their heads. The Queen of Britain, Guinevere, met Viviana's eyes and shrugged almost imperceptibly, telling her that to her knowledge, the Woad tribes living nearby were not involved. 'Do you think this is some kind of message ?' Arthur asked gravely, his green eyes worried, and Viviana sighed wearily. 'I do not know. But in any case, we need to ask the villagers about what they may have seen or heard.' Galahad shook his head. 'We did. But they were too scared. Even Tristan's presence didn't loosen their tongues.' 'Maybe it's because they know what happened', the young woman murmured. 'We need to get them to talk, for we now have a problem : there is a sadistic killer on the loose. And if he left the village – which I am sure he did – he may be anywhere.'


	2. Unwanted Questions

- 2 / Unwanted Questions -

She stood near the entrance of the courtyard, pulling self-consciously on her new dress, and eyeing the quickly growing crowd warily. Her change of style was Ailse's bright idea, and Viviana somehow doubted this tight, red dress really suited her. From her little spot in the shadows she could already imagine the stares and the half-murmured words of disapproval she would get were she to wander into the crowd. Wrapping her arms around her, she shuddered at the thought, for she had always feared all kind of confrontation. Her only comfort resided in the knowledge that Dagonet would not think any less of her. He knew her well enough to see the soul underneath the skin, no matter how magnified it was by pretty clothes ; also, despite his somewhat frightening appearance, her husband was a calm, quiet man, and it usually took a lot more than a piece of red fabric and some stares to upset him. He was actually very good at staring people down himself.

Still, she wasn't reassured. The earlier events had made her usual nervous nature grow into near-paranoia, as she glanced around. Bonfires had been lit in the walls of the fort and in the surrounding plains in celebration of Bealtaine, the last pagan festival to be held in Britain. The other traditional feasts life Samhain and Imbolc had died out progressively, under the increasing influence of the Christian Church in the island. Arthur had authorized the summer celebration to be held, despite his faith in the Christian God, not wishing to push his people into a religion they did not want. Viviana knew that his love for Guinevere, his wife, had also played an important part in this display of tolerance. For Guinevere was a Woad, a former enemy of the knights, who had lost many brothers under the iron of the ancient tribes of Britain.

Viviana sighed. Her thoughts were grim, but she didn't want to spend the whole night hiding away in the protective shadows of the buildings. Besides, Dagonet was out there somewhere, waiting patiently for her to join him, and her heart could not refuse that. She was about to step into the lights of the fires, when she saw a movement on her left. Startled, she almost let out a cry, and spun around, only to see Tristan smirking at her from the darker shadows, for the third time that day. 'Tristan… You scared me. Again' she breathed out, laying a trembling hand on her chest, feeling her heart hammering wildly. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, a grin almost born, implying that it was the whole point of the manoeuvre. She shook her head. He had been following her since the council, though she didn't know if it was because of an order or by free will. As a woman who liked to think she was an independent one, she should've rebelled against this over-protectiveness, but the scared part of her, not so deep inside, welcomed the safety the silent scout provided, even though he liked to compensate by creeping up on her and scaring her out of her wits.

Under his derisive gaze, she finally found her resolve and joined the crowd, swaying in order to avoid the people massed inside the fort, her eyes searching for Dagonet's tall silhouette. She finally spotted him in the tavern, seated between Bors and Gawain, a mug of ale in front of him. Studying him from afar, she detailed his handsome face, the light of the bonfires bringing out his beautiful grey eyes, and the scar that ran across his face. He had once told her once that it had been inflicted by a Woad, a few days after his arrival on the island ; he had killed the man, and kept a reminder of his first bloodshed. Remembering the old fairytale, she thought that he was both Beauty and Beast ; beautiful to her, savage and lethal on the battlefield.

Dagonet turned away from Gawain, to whom he had been speaking, and saw her. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he rose from his seat, pulling her into his embrace when she approached. She rested her hands on his chest, her head on his shoulder, and breathed him in, a fragrance of herbs and leather, allowing him to soothe her worries and fears with his sole presence. He kissed the top of her head, whispering into her hair : 'You look breathtaking.' She smiled against the fabric of his tunic, and looked up into his silver eyes, her lips meeting his in a tender and passionate kiss. Maybe Ailse's idea had been a good one, after all. 'Oh, get a room !' groaned Galahad in annoyance, and Viviana cast a pitying look at Gawain, who was seated next to the youngest knight, and thus condemned to listen to his newest rant about some girl. It's not that she didn't care about the knights and their worries – she did – but she had lost count of Galahad's conquests long ago. And judging by the speed with which the blonde knight was emptying mugs of ale, he had also foreseen his fate, and was now attempting to get drunk faster than Galahad, so he would black out before the complaining reached its full force.

She sat down on a wooden chair close to Dagonet, holding one of his large, calloused hands in her smaller ones in her lap, and looked around, observing the festival. The whole fort was lit up by the bonfires, music was playing, people dancing and singing, and Bors' and Vanora's children ran around, screaming happily and playing, joined for the occasion by Siobhan, who raced in silence, a shy smile on her pale face. She stroked gently her husband's hand, tracing the scars with her fingertips, and he leaned in to nuzzle her neck lightly. Closing her eyes, she let herself simply enjoy the moment, forgetting for the evening the earlier events.

A thump of a pitcher on the wooden table indicated that Bors was back with a refill. Opening her eyes, Viviana saw him and Dagonet drink from their mugs. The burly knight set down his drink, belched loudly – the young woman winced – and asked : 'So, is there a kid on the way ?'

Dagonet choked on his ale. 'Bors !' he said sternly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and glaring at the older knight. 'What ?!' protested Bors. 'A whole year, it's about time you got started !' His lover, Vanora, who also happened to be the tavern's owner, swatted him on the back of the head : 'You oaf ! Leave these two alone, there're enough kids runnin' around already !'

Viviana, who had turned crimson at the question, was staring intently at her hands in her lap. She felt as if the whole world had gone silent at Bors' comment, as if everyone was staring at her ; she didn't dare look up to check. Dagonet squeezed her hand reassuringly, asked Lancelot about his latest feminine conquest, and the incident was quickly forgotten by everyone, herself excepted.

* * *

That night, as she lay by Dagonet's side, her head resting on his chest, she listened to the beating of his heart, the earlier events of the day spinning in her head. The simple question Bors had asked seemed to allow her no rest.

She knew she was lucky, given the times she now lived in, to have had the choice of her husband ; and Dagonet was no ordinary man. He understood her, and cared for her deeply, making her incredibly happy. Yet, sometimes she wondered if he felt as fortunate as she did. For she knew there was one thing he wanted from her, and that she felt unable to give him : a child.

Her husband wanted to become a father, despite his bad memories of Rome, who had forced for long years the sons of Sarmatian knights into slavery ; he wanted to teach his child how to ride, and maybe how to spar, to listen to its first words, and later to its first heartbreak…

Since her arrival into this world, Viviana had discovered a lot of things about herself ; she had learned to have faith in her own abilities, and to trust those surrounding her, but there was still a long way for her to walk ; she was still so full of fears and insecurities, so unsure of herself… How could she force such a heirloom upon an innocent soul ? Surely, such a disposition could only traumatise it, and she would never forgive herself if her child was to be unhappy because of her. It would also become her responsibility to teach the young human being to become someone good and just… A responsibility too heavy for her shoulders, or so Viviana felt. She was too insecure, too unstable, too clumsy…

But if she could eventually overcome these flaws, there was one thing she would never forgive herself : the complete, incredible happiness she felt when she was with Dagonet. She was heartless to feel so blessed, while her family might be grieving over her disappearance. When the young woman thought about them, guilt overcame her, and she felt inhuman and cruel, worthless of Dagonet and his child ; this realization pained her more than any physical wound ever could.

Propping herself on one elbow, she studied her husband's face, so relaxed in peaceful slumber, looking much younger when he wasn't worrying for his brothers of herself. Her heart constricted with both love for him and sadness, and she leaned to kiss him lightly on the cheek. He snuck a muscular arm around her waist, pulling her closer to his warm, naked body, and buried his face into the crook of her neck, the stubble on his chin prickling her skin. 'Sleep', he mumbled, before drifting off again, and Viviana forced herself to lie still, listening to his even breathing, that failed to lull her into slumber, that night.


	3. Hidden

- 3 / Hidden -

Viviana opened her eyes, only to see the ceiling swimming before her. She searched for the bedpost with a trembling hand, and winced when she could focus enough to see its paleness. The young woman managed to pull herself up, the strength in her muscles almost betraying her. Her head ached, her vision was foggy and uncertain ; her body felt as if though it had been trampled by a herd of elephants.

She cursed herself for her stupidity ; getting herself all worked up so late at night could only get her sick.

Sitting on the cold stone floor, she watched the tremors in her hands subside. Her surroundings were still spinning slightly, but she gathered her skirts and dragged herself to the bed, lying down for a few minutes. She didn't have much time ; the knights would soon be waiting for her to ride to the village where the murder had been committed, despite Dagonet's silent disapproval.

Sighing, she reached for a shawl and draped it around her shoulders. This was not the time to be weak.

* * *

Viviana pulled on the reins, and her steed halted on the muddy road leading to the village. Badbury lay about a three hours' ride away from Camboglanna ; it was located on a small hill, surrounded by woods, and therefore resembled an island in a sea of green. The knights halted around her and dismounted quickly, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. The villagers had abandoned their activities, and watched the group warily. Some seemed to be curious, even admiring, but most faces were suspicious, almost hostile.

'Greetings', called out Arthur, surveying the crowd that was slowly gathering around them. 'We wish to speak with your elder.' His announcement triggered no response, as the villagers simply stared back at him. The King swore under his breath. Judging by his face, Viviana guessed he was about to do something he really, really disliked. 'I am Arthur Castus, your King. I demand to speak to your elder. Now.' The people stared their feet with great interest until an old man pushed his way through the crowd. His long, grey hair was falling into his grumpy-looking face. 'What do you want ?' he exclaimed shrilly. Arthur clenched his jaw, and managed a strained smile. 'We come to investigate Inerney's death', he explained, his grip on his sword tightening in irritation, and the grinding of leather gloves on the leather hilt seemed to reverberate warningly in the quiet atmosphere of the village. The elder gulped nervously. 'We didn't know him well… He didn't socialize much, since the death of his wife and their child, he kept mostly to himself…' He pointed a bony finger towards a house at the outskirts of the settlement. 'He lived there, go and see if you wish !'

The small habitation was well-kept. The rare furniture was old, polished from years of use. 'Hmm, he forgot the shelves' remarked Gawain, drawing a line in the thin layer of dust with his finger. Galahad snorted. A startled cry came suddenly from the kitchen, immediately covered by a loud clanging of metal. As they rushed hurriedly to the source of the noise, they discovered a disgruntled Lancelot standing in the middle of a small pile of cookware. The youngest knight burst out laughing, eager to be the teaser rather than the one mocked for once. The older knight shot him a nasty look. 'There's nothing here', he grumbled, nudging disgustedly a saucepan with his boot.

Viviana sighed, exiting the room. She was beginning to believe Lancelot was right. The house seemed to contain nothing worth killing for. She stepped into an empty room, glancing at the drawn curtains on the window, the empty shelves on the walls, shimmering with a thin layer of dust… She drew a finger on the surface of a wooden cupboard. It was spotless. Viviana frowned.

Laying a hand on the side of the piece of furniture, she pushed gently, and the cupboard swung aside, revealing a dark opening in the stone wall. 'Dagonet !' she called. 'Dagonet !' But her husband did not seem to hear her ; glancing out of the window, she noticed his tall silhouette depart towards the woods, a hand on the hilt of his sword. The knights did not seem to trust the villagers, and the feeling was largely mutual, not that Viviana could blame any of the parties. For years the soldiers under Rome's command had ruled the island with an iron hand, and the inhabitants had grown accustomed to tales of cruelty. It would take time for them to see that the new ruler, both Briton and Roman, respected their freedom and their traditions. Even more, he had married one of them, a Woad, and a daughter of one of the most famous tribe leaders : Merlin.

Viviana grimaced at the remembrance of her first – and hopefully last – encounter with the old, plotting, Machiavellian man, and glanced outside again : all the knights seemed to have left the house, and were now taking orders from Arthur on the matter of the investigation. She listened : the dark passage was silent. Grabbing a torch from the entrance, she picked up her skirts in order to avoid tripping and stepped carefully over the stone threshold of the opening.

The steps of the staircase were narrow and high, and slippery with the water that oozed from between the stones. Viviana leaned against the humid wall, her heart hammering wildly : she had almost walked into emptiness, as there was nothing separating the left side of the stairs from a long fall. She extended her arm, hoping that the torch would cast some light in front of her, but the fire flickered in the cold air of the chamber she was descending into. Slowly, carefully, Viviana finally managed to make it to the ground, and looked around, torn between fear and curiosity. The young woman cursed herself for it : she knew she should've waited for one of the knights, but the discovery was so unexpected and thrilling… She looked around.

She was standing in the centre of a small room, beneath ground level. The walls were damp and partially covered in moss, the air smelt of mould. The silence was eerie, making her want to do something, anything to break it. She fought to overcome a wave of panic, beginning to feel trapped in the chamber, and remembered that the exit was near. Backing up towards the stairs, she tripped on her long skirts and fell backwards, screaming. The torch flew to the floor ; the flame went out with a hiss, filling the room with complete darkness. Viviana fought the urge to cry for help, ashamed of her cowardice and terrified at the same time. Heavy steps echoed through the chamber, and something golden sparkled at the top of the stairs.

'You alright ?' asked Gawain, his voice filled with concern, as he helped her up. She mumbled an affirmative answer, dusting off her dress and feeling like a clumsy fool. No doubt Dagonet would hear about it, and then there would be no end to his gentle teasing. In the meantime, Gawain had called for Galahad, and the two knights were now examining the room. 'What is this place ?' asked the youngest knight no-one in particular, glancing around. In the light of the torches, Viviana could distinguish a pile of rags in a corner. Approaching, she realised her mistake : the fabrics were old, filthy and torn, but they were neatly arranged into something that looked like… a bed ?! _Who would want to sleep here ? Or maybe the one living under the house was not a willing guest…_

She knelt beside the small, tattered mattress, touching it with her fingertips. How cold must the nights have been for the prisoner… She shook her head, stifling a bitter laugh. Night or day, it was impossible to tell, in this darkness. Time had probably seemed a long, black eternity, erratically interrupted with nightmare-filled sleep… Something caught her eye, drawing her attention to the wall in front of her : several horizontal lines had been drawn on the stone, one above the other, with no apparent pattern of spacing, the highest line about five feet above ground. It almost reminded her of…

'Look at this !' called Gawain, thrusting something at her. She caught the bundle clumsily, and looked at it closer. Though old and very dirty, it was unmistakably a rag doll, the braids on its head made of entwined threads, the button eyes staring sadly at Viviana.


	4. A Stolen Moment

- 4 / A Stolen Moment -

'A child ? A child lived here ?' repeated Arthur in disbelief, and Viviana nodded silently. The King looked around, taking in the moss, the cold, the darkness. 'A child…' he whispered again, echoing Viviana's thoughts. She stood by Dagonet, who held her close protectively – Gawain definitely couldn't hold his tongue, though the healer had been more worried than amused – and absorbed his warmth and love, trying to ward off the despair that threatened to drown her every time she thought about the little being that had been held captive in this hell.

The young woman could imagine too well the long, hourless days, sitting alone on the thin, tattered mattress that didn't stop the cold from seeping into the small body, the pain from being away from its family – or maybe the parents lived right above ? _What kind of person could treat a child so, could sleep in a bed while locking up its own blood in a cellar ?_ Viviana shuddered, snuggling closer to her husband. He held her tightly, glancing disapprovingly at his leader for making her stay in the chamber while he explored it. If he had had his way, she thought, she would've never left the fort's safety, let alone wander by herself in cold, creepy prisons.

Even the knights, who had seen their share of horror, seemed to be astonished by the absurd cruelty of such an imprisonment. But they thought it temporary, while she knew…

She knew the child had lived here for several years, had grown up, and grown accustomed to the cell, even reverting to the small habits of children, usually so endearing, but so dreadfully incongruous in this environment. Viviana remembered herself two decades ago, drawing with an unsure hand that trembled with the effort of holding a pencil a line on the wall just above her head, so proud when it appeared to be an inch higher than the previous one. Poor child. She, at least, had had loving parents to run to, parents who cooed delightedly when she announced she had grown up some more… She didn't know what it was like, to wonder what she had done wrong to be kept in the dark, to wonder why her parents despised her. To wonder whether the next meal would come, or whether she had been forgotten for good, this time… How the poor, innocent being must have hated itself, for being so bad, so mean, so ugly that his parents were hiding him away, full of shame and hatred… She clenched her jaw, her throat constricting in empathy with the young captive, and Dagonet seemed to sense her despair. 'Arthur, enough', he said warningly. 'I'm taking Viviana home'. The green-eyed man looked at him understandingly. 'Of course, Dag', he nodded, and the large knight pulled his wife up the stairs.

Viviana blinked as the sunlight hit her eyes, clutching Dagonet's tunic tightly. Though she remembered that the day had been rather cloudy, bright colours seemed to aggress her from all directions. Inhaling the fresh air hungrily, she realized just how oppressing the stay underground had been for her, and refused even to consider the impact upon the mentality of a young child.

Only one thing gave her hope, insignificant and fragile, yet resisting her attempts to reason it : they had found no other body. The child had survived, and had escaped.

Her strength seemed to have abandoned her, for her head spun for the second time that day, and her whole body felt numb, refusing to obey her orders. Shivering, she fell into Dagonet's arms, her eyes closing on his worried expression.

* * *

A moment of panic overcame her as she regained consciousness, for it took her some time to remember where she was. The room was bathed in morning sunlight, but the air was cool. Blinking, Viviana rubbed her eyes, trying to shake off the tiredness she felt in her entire body, but her arms felt heavy, and she fought a wave of nausea. Dagonet leaned over the bed, pulling up the covers that she had thrown off in her sleep, and frowned. 'How are you feeling ?' he inquired quietly, touching her forehead gently for fever. Viviana smiled, but her smile must have been somewhat strained, for her husband did not seem reassured. 'I'm fine', she whispered, but Dagonet shook his head. 'You're lying, Viviana.'

The young woman pursed her lips, a bit annoyed that he could read her so easily, and he chuckled at her irritation. The bed groaned under his weight as he sat on the edge, taking one of the small hands that were resting on the covers into his, and kissing it tenderly. 'Why are you lying to me again ?' There was no real reproach in his voice, only love and concern. Memories of the previous day were beginning to flood back, flashes of darkness and feelings of being trapped, and she needed him near to ward off the nightmare-like sensations.

Viviana moved under the covers, allowing him some space, and the large knight lay down beside her, pulling her into his embrace. 'Tell me', he whispered in her ear, kissing it lightly, and she wriggled when his stubble pricked the sensitive skin, giggling. 'I don't want you to worry', she whispered finally, meeting his eyes. 'I will always worry for you. I love you', Dagonet replied simply. The heat emanating from his body was enticing, and she snuck a hand under his tunic to caress the firm muscles of his chest, her illness momentarily forgotten. 'Are you trying to avoid this conversation ?' he asked, amused, but his silver eyes darkened with desire. Viviana ignored the question pointedly, concentrating on the sensation of his skin under her fingertips, and slid her hand further, pulling up the superfluous garment. Growling, Dagonet pulled her possessively to his chest, almost crushing her beneath him, and claimed her mouth passionately. His hands tugged urgently on her nightgown, pulling it up as he slid under the covers to join her. Demanding, overwhelming desire swelled within her as their skins touched, and she opened up for him readily, whispering his name, grasping him feverishly as he entered her.

'Viviana…' he moaned huskily, his fingers tangling up in her hair, lifting her head to kiss her. Looking into his silver eyes, she arched up to meet him, their legs entwined, when a loud banging on the door brought their lovemaking to an abrupt end. Dagonet swore under his breath. 'They better have a good reason' he growled, and Viviana lay back with a sigh. Frustration washed over her. His body on top of hers had felt ecstatic, as always, and to stop so soon was pure torture. 'What is it ?' she called with a slightly wavering voice, and could almost imagine her maid cringe, on the other side of the door, as she replied breathlessly : 'Lady Viviana, I'm s… sorry, but it's Keriann. She needs your skills, now !' Viviana sat up abruptly, sliding from underneath Dagonet as the knight slammed his shaved head into the pillow in frustration, muttering angrily.

The young woman wanted more than anything to remain with her husband, in this room and under these sheets, but her duty called. Keriann was another maid of the fort, only eight months pregnant, and her health had been worrying Viviana for some time now. The woman was of fragile constitution, and her skills as a midwife would be sorely needed.

She steadied herself as the room spun around her, but discarded the symptom again as one of lack of food and sleep. Gathering her supplies hurriedly, whispering to herself in order to check nothing had been forgotten, Viviana glanced one last time at Dagonet, who was studying her suspiciously. 'I'm fine', she assured him one more time as he frowned at her paleness, and whirled out of the room.

* * *

'Push !' Viviana advised, clutching Keriann's thin hand, and wiping the sweat from her pale forehead. The pregnant woman arched in pain, closing her eyes, and a strangled cry escaped her lips, but she heeded the midwife's advice. 'Hold her up !' told Viviana to Keriann's sister, who was supporting the future mother's back. 'Where is that hot water ?!' she bellowed at one of the innumerable cousins who scuttled around in panic. An intelligible cry was her answer, and she shook her head angrily. 'Push !' Her attention returned to Keriann, and she glanced under her dress, checking the progression of the childbirth.

The delivery was not going well. The morning had turned into day, than into evening, and still the baby was not born. The mother was exhausted, the baby hadn't been due until another month, and Viviana feared for both Keriann's and her child's lives. She encouraged the mother further, anxious to awaken a last spark of energy within the pregnant woman, but Keriann was now so weak that the strength she had left might not be enough to bring her baby into the world. _If things continue at this rate_, thought Viviana gloomily, _I'm calling Dagonet for a caesarean_.


	5. Monsters

- 5 / Monsters -

Viviana was exhausted herself, and cursed the slight tremors in the hand she laid on Keriann's swollen stomach. The woman needed her courage, and for her and her child's sake, Viviana had to be strong as well. 'Only one last effort', the midwife whispered to the future mother, 'And your baby will be here.' She glanced up : 'Do you want a daughter or a son ?' 'A son', murmured Keriann, smiling through the pain that ran in waves through her body. 'What will you name him ?' 'Aaron…' the future mother whispered proudly, and Viviana seized her hand again. 'It's a beautiful name, Keriann. Now, I need your help ; I know you are tired, I know you are in pain, but you really must push hard, so Aaron can be born !' She squeezed the sweaty hand. 'Can you do this for me ?' Keriann nodded ; her tired eyes were rimmed with dark circles, her auburn hair clinging to her cheeks, bringing out the paleness even more. In a last surge of strength, she clenched her teeth, and pushed with all her might. A scream of pain was torn from her throat, and her nails dug into Viviana's skin ; the midwife held on, instructing the sister to hold Keriann's back up. She pulled up the sweat-soaked skirt, and laid out a clean cloth for the baby. 'He's coming !' Viviana exclaimed, and soon she was holding the blood-covered newborn, and checking him for any deformity. There was none.

'Congratulations !' she said, laying the baby on Keriann's sweaty breast. 'Here's your Aaron.' Tears welled up in the new mother's eyes as she took her son in her arms for the first time, and kissed the tiny forehead. The umbilical chord was severed, the mother's health dutifully inspected, and Viviana declared her out of danger. She sank into a chair, wiping her forehead with a trembling hand, and glanced at the overjoyed Keriann. A dark, cold envy reared its ugly head in her heart when she watched the young woman cradle her child in her arms, when she listened to the cries of joy and the congratulations to the new father outside the door. She wished she had the courage to give Dagonet the same joy and pride, to live the same happiness as Keriann.

When Viviana stepped into the room she shared with Dagonet, her husband was sleeping soundly, sprawled out under the covers. She sat down on the edge of the bed, contemplating his handsome face, and repressed the desire to caress it with her fingertips, fearing to wake him up. How she loved him… Dagonet was exactly what she had always needed : strong and confident, yet quiet and gentle ; he loved her and supported her whatever she did, listened to her fears, smiled at her triumphs and held her when she cried ; he was not offended by her success, indifferent to the beliefs of the time, that wanted that the woman stayed at home to take care of the quickly growing family. He deserved the happiness to become a father… He deserved someone who could give him that joy.

Undressing quickly, the young woman slipped under the covers, snuggling close to him, and he turned around sleepily. 'How are you ?' Dagonet mumbled, and she smiled, swallowing the bitterness that rose in her throat. 'I'm happy to be back', she whispered, caressing his scarred cheek, and he rolled on top of her. 'I believe we have a conversation to finish', he grinned, now fully awake, leaning down to kiss her neck, nipping lightly on the tender flesh. Viviana moaned softly, closing her eyes, losing herself in the welcome desire. 'I love you so much', she whispered, and those would be her last intelligible words that night.

* * *

Stumbling, Viviana ran to the basin in the corner of the room, and fell to her knees, throwing up. She felt Dagonet kneel beside her, pulling her hair out of her face, unclenching tenderly the fingers that gripped the wooden basin. Feeling better, she slid to the floor. 'I'm… I'm…' she stuttered, trying to reassure him, and squeezed her eyes shut to prevent the hot, bitter tears from spilling. 'You are pregnant' Dagonet muttered into her ear, and she burst into uncontrollable sobs. _Why now ?!_ She was not ready for this… It seemed that her whole world was crumbling around her, all that she had so carefully built turning to ashes and being swept away by the wind. Panic overwhelmed her, and she whimpered, curling up in a ball on the cold stone floor.

The large knight sat down beside her, not in the least offended by her reaction, and scooped her up, pulling her into his lap and cradling her tenderly. He whispered into her ear : 'Viviana… Viviana, listen to me. I love you. You hear me ? I love you. You are an incredible woman. You will make a wonderful mother. I know it.' She sniffed, unconvinced. 'I know nothing about children' she cried, burying her face into his chest. 'I can't raise it…' 'Yes you can' he countered. 'We can, Viviana. You are not alone. I will not leave you, you hear me ?!' She looked up at him, her face glistening with tears. 'Dagonet, I'm sorry… I'm not ready for this !' He smiled. 'I know. But it happened. What can we do ?'

She snuggled closer. Indeed, what was there to do now ? She was soon to become a mother, to give birth to a small, innocent being that she would cherish the best she could. Maybe love was enough ? And Dagonet would be there, at every step of the way. He promised…

She had learned long ago not to question his word. 'I hope he has your eyes' she whispered finally, resting her head on his shoulder, and heard him chuckle. 'And I hope she has your temper !' She hit his arm playfully, wiping the remaining tears clumsily. 'My temper is fine, thank you' she grumbled, and he kissed her temple. 'I love you' he repeated.

* * *

The men shifted uncomfortably, glancing at each other in embarrassment. Guinevere lifted an elegant eyebrow at their painted faces : 'A vampire ?' she repeated. The Woads straightened up, looking somewhat defiant, and the Queen sighed, glancing towards Viviana who was supposed to observe the scene from a corner of the room, but who was holding a hand to her stomach sheepishly, still in awe about her pregnancy. Approaching, Guinevere murmured : 'Is there such a thing ?' Shaking her head, the midwife replied : 'Not that I'm aware… Vampires were a part of folklore, in my time.' The other woman sighed. 'Here, they are a part of my people's beliefs…' Viviana touched her arm cautiously. 'Can I speak to them ?' she asked, and Guinevere nodded : 'Please do.'

Viviana thought for a moment, and then addressed the group of Woad scouts gathered before her. 'What did he look like ?' she inquired, and the men looked at each other. The one who appeared to be their leader took a step forward, and bowed, expressing his respect. 'He was tall', he began, glancing behind him as his comrades nodded in approval. 'And thin. Very thin, see ? And so pale ! Like a ghost…' he continued, gesturing animatedly to illustrate his words. 'He had no nose ! No nose !! And… And no lips. And he looked at us with those white eyes…' He stared into space, remembering the encounter. 'Did he say something ?' Viviana questioned him further. The Woad shook his head ruefully. 'He only wailed ; an inhuman sound, Goddess help me !' He paled. 'And he tried to grab us !'

The rest of the group murmured supportively. 'I screamed', he admitted, looking away. Guinevere stifled a sigh. When he heard it, the man looked up abruptly. 'You think I'm mad, don't you ?!' he hissed, clenching his fists. 'You think I'm a coward ?! I was born in that forest ; I have been walking its paths ever since. And I know what I saw. Believe me – it wasn't human !' His face was contorted with rage and pure, genuine fear.

Viviana stepped back at this unexpected outburst, protecting unconsciously her belly with her hands. True, she had been secretly amused by the man's description of the "beast" prowling in the forest. But unless the Woads had indulged in some hallucinogen mushrooms, what they saw was real and frightening, even to a skilled warrior. It made her wonder about the danger they were facing : had they been taking the situation so lightly ? Was there really something in those woods that hunted for human blood ? Viviana was suddenly glad Dagonet was not on patrol, but safely making salves in the Healing Rooms.

'What happened afterwards ?' she asked cautiously, finally taking the Woad's story seriously. 'Then Annwn came running with a torch…' he responded. 'And ?' encouraged Viviana. 'He started screaming… And he tried to protect himself !' 'You attacked him ?' the young woman asked in disbelief, but he shook his head vehemently. 'No, no ! From the light ! Everyone knows vampires are afraid of the light…'

The group cheered, mocking her ignorance of such a common knowledge, and Viviana suppressed the need to roll her eyes. Yes, this was a medieval world. A world ruled by men with swords : you didn't need to be very smart when you had a huge, pointy sword and, in this case, pretty blue tattoos. She was sure of one thing : whatever was lurking in those woods was definitely not a vampire. Vampires didn't exist.

'The light, of course !' she exclaimed, glancing at Guinevere, who merely shrugged. The group of Woads had been sent on patrol on Guinevere's orders to find track of the murderer. They had come running back, pale as ghosts, babbling incoherently about a monster in the woods. The Queen, who also was a former warrior, had intended to give them a piece of her mind about scouts who drank on duty, but they appeared to be surprisingly sober – Viviana had assured her of that – and the haunted look in their eyes had convinced the two women to hear them out.

Guinevere sighed wearily, and Viviana understood her : despite the efforts of the knights, the rumour of the murder had spread, all horrible details included, and a movement of panic was stirring beneath the apparently calm surface. Managing an invasion of the undead was not on the top priority list of Britain's rulers.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Viviana tried to think of a question that would be both relevant and not offensive to the Woad warriors. None came. She decided it was time to thank the scouts for their report and send them back into their now slightly less beloved woods.

'And the claws he had !' murmured suddenly the leader, remembering further. 'Six of them…'

Both Viviana and Guinevere turned around abruptly, and the midwife frowned, trying to grasp a memory that was evading her, a distant knowledge acquired long ago during one of her physiology lessons. Pale skin, fear of the light, necrosis of the gums… A legend indeed, born from a dreadful, crippling disease. All the details slipped into place, and she suddenly understood who exactly the monster was.


	6. Grey Eyes

- 6 / Grey Eyes -

Viviana shivered, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders, despite the surrounding summer, and inhaled deeply, taking in the atmosphere of the fort : the spices of the kitchens, the metallic fragrance of blood coming from the butcher's stall, the smell of horse dung that covered the stone-paved streets – pleasant or not, they were a part of the bustling life in Camboglanna.

Life was a funny thing, Viviana decided. Funny and cruel, for you often laughed at the other people's expense, until the joke was on you. It seemed so unfair that someone was born with such a terrible disease, she mused, thinking about the killer. But it was even more unfair that it should happen in such a time of ignorance and intolerance. And then the parents, ashamed of such a hideous offspring, and afraid of the other people's reaction, would decide to hide away the unwanted monster child, to bury it alive. It would grow up in the dark, away from the deadly sun, for light could drive the sick child insane and turn it against its parents…

And now, the murderous son or daughter was on the run, scared, blinded by the disease-induced madness, with no one to turn to for help or comfort. For he or she had become an orphan the day he – or she – had become a murderer.

Intolerance led to fear, and fear led to secrets, secrets that grew stronger and darker over the years, and that eventually broke the calm surface of the appearances, like a weed left untamed for too long. She felt thankful for her simple and honest relationship with Dagonet, for the knowledge that he hid nothing from her and that he trusted as much as any of his brothers in arms.

A commotion at the iron gates, that separated the royal part of the fort from the common places, pulled Viviana out of her musings. Approaching, she swayed to avoid the staring passer-bys, and tried to see what the cause of the disorder was.

A scrawny woman in her thirties was trying to tear herself away from the knights restraining her. 'You are not allowed here !' one of them tried to explain, but she ignored him. 'Dagonet !!' the woman screamed, and Viviana frowned in surprise. She was filthy, her matted blonde hair hanging in disgusting lumps in her back, dirty rags barely covering her body. 'Dagonet ! Remember me, Sir Knight ?' she mocked, showing her rotten teeth. The healer frayed his way through the crowd that was beginning to gather around them. 'Who are you ?' he demanded sternly, his arms folded, and she cackled. 'I take it you don't. Why, you hurt me ! Such a lovely night of passion we had !' Viviana gasped, looking at her husband in disbelief. Old memories of humiliation came back to flood her mind with a million painful scenes. This was not happening, not again ! He couldn't have…

_No, of course he couldn't_, she chided herself. _You know him well enough to be sure of this_. Was the woman lying, then ? She met Dagonet's eyes, and saw them darken as he remembered. 'That was… years ago' he stated, probably more for Viviana than for the harpy. The midwife almost sighed with relief, but worry didn't desert her mind completely. What did Dagonet's former lover want ? Surely, she wasn't hoping to win him back ? Viviana grimaced, disappointed. The woman was so filthy and disgraceful, she felt insulted that Dagonet had once chosen her company, like he had chosen Viviana's.

In the meantime, the woman had managed to break free from the knights' grasp. 'Ha !' she exclaimed triumphantly. 'I knew you wouldn't forget me !' 'You flatter yourself, wench !' Dagonet growled menacingly, towering above her. 'I merely took my pleasure, you took your coin. Now', he gestured to the gates, 'Leave !'

The harpy spat at his feet, her already ugly face contorted with rage. 'A coin, that's not all you left me, Knight !' she hissed, turning around. Extending her arm, she pulled from the surrounding crowd a little boy, as filthy and thin as his mother. A silver-eyed boy, Viviana noticed with a pang of jealousy. 'Here's your son !'

Dagonet paled, and turned abruptly towards Viviana. His eyes were sad, full of shock, and despair, and fear that she would hate him and leave him. She held his gaze, her jaw clenched, hurting about something she could not even define. How could she resent him for this, when he didn't know until this instant that he had a son, when he had forgotten his brief encounter with a blonde wench, an encounter motivated solely by his need for physical release ? But she almost did. Almost. Only her deep, unwavering love for him stopped her, and gave her strength to gather her dignity and face the woman.

'Are you sure of this… parentage ?' she asked, stepping forward, her arms crossed in an air of confidence she didn't feel. The wench smiled unpleasantly. 'Eyes don't lie, see ?' she cackled, shoving the boy roughly in front of the midwife. The child stumbled and fell, and Viviana rushed instinctively to help him up. She kneeled in front of him, and her heart bled when she noticed the bruises on his arms, the light, torn clothes he wore, the terrified look on his small face. His eyes, a shade of silver identical to Dagonet's, stared into her own, as if the boy was wondering whether she was going to hit him too.

'What do you want ?' Viviana demanded, standing up, her voice cold. The woman snarled disgustedly. 'I want nothing from the likes of you !' she spat. 'Nothing ! But I ain't going to feed him no more !' She backed away. 'Now, take him if you want, drown him for all I care, I ain't going to cry…'

The young woman raised her chin defiantly. 'So you give up your rights on this child ?' she asked. The blonde harpy snorted : 'Useless brat… Take him, if you want ! He ain't mine no more.'

'Very well', drawled Viviana, staring disdainfully at the woman, and then crouched again to speak to the child : 'What is your name ?' 'He has none !' exclaimed the wench, but her mouth fell shut in shock when Viviana narrowed her eyes. 'I believe your business here is done', she hissed, intense contempt burning in her heart. This woman was unworthy of having children. She did not deserve this little being, especially not when its father was a knight as noble as Dagonet. Viviana considered the possibility that the boy had been an accident, and agreed deep inside that it was most likely : Dagonet would never have left his child. In any case, it was not this motherhood that motivated her hatred, but the woman's treatment of her son. Children were out of bounds for violence.

Viviana picked up the boy carefully, fearing every second to hurt him, and felt the thin, fragile bones protruding under the pale, bruised skin. _He must be starving_, she thought.

'Money !' cried suddenly the woman. 'I can see you like him, I'll sell him to you !' Viviana turned around slowly, glaring at the wench. 'You gave up your rights', she reminded her coldly. 'Dagonet', she turned to her husband, and he met her eyes bravely. 'Please, do escort this woman out. But in a civil manner ; your son will not see you mistreat his mother.'

* * *

Dagonet found her in a small room beside their own, contemplating thoughtfully the bed where the boy slept. He approached carefully, obviously afraid of her possible reaction, and touched her shoulder tentatively with his large hand. Viviana turned around and met his silver gaze. 'I am sorry', he whispered, lowering his eyes, but she cupped his scarred cheek gently. 'There is nothing to be sorry for', she replied, 'You didn't know…'

He looked up again, and pulled her carefully into his embrace, still wary. 'Why did you do this ?' he asked, and she smiled sadly. 'He is your son.' Dagonet flinched. 'And he can't be held accountable for who his parents are.'

He stared at the bed silently. 'She was beautiful, once' he murmured, as if he felt her humiliation about being put at the same level as a tavern wench. Viviana nodded, discarding the stab of jealousy at the thought of her husband with another woman, and snuggled closer to him, snaking her arms around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder. The past didn't matter, that much he had taught her, for he had accepted her as she was ; now it was her turn to prove her love for him.

'What will we name him ?' she mumbled, and he chuckled quietly, relaxing in her arms. 'I hadn't imagined we'd need to worry about such a thing so soon… But I'll leave the choice up to you'. She remained silent for a minute, contemplating the possible children names she had sometimes thought of. How fitting, and ironic, that she should become the adopted mother of an unwanted child the same day she learned that she was pregnant, despite all her efforts to avoid it… 'Ahern', she whispered finally. 'We will name him Ahern.'


	7. Blood

- 7 / Blood -

'Porphi… Porfa…' Arthur grimaced, and glanced at Viviana for help : 'What is the name, again ?' She smiled slightly. 'Cutaneous porphyria, my King' she answered. 'Yes, that.' Arthur nodded. 'It is… well, Viviana will tell you about it' he finished, shifting uneasily in his seat. The young woman stepped forward, a usual but unwelcome pinch of self-consciousness in her heart. 'It is a hereditary disease that affects the skin. An exposure to light causes the skin and the gums, such as the lips and nose, to decompose, giving birth to the legend of vampires' she explained. 'The illness also brings alienation, therefore I must stress this : our murderer is most probably not conscious of his deeds.'

The King of Britain looked at her gravely. 'You must understand that I do not feel entirely… comfortable with this explanation', he warned. 'Such an excuse may be abused of, should the story spread.' Viviana remained silent, not knowing what to add. There was nothing more for her to say, except that she was sure that the dead man had been killed by his ill, delusional child, whom he had kept locked away in a cellar for at least twelve years – if her estimation based on the height of the age lines was accurate. She pitied the poor being, a man grown into a monster, dangerous in its alienation : no more than an innocent weapon ; but she also understood Arthur's point of view : the risk was high, for all the condemned criminals of the island waiting to be judged wouldn't hesitate to claim they had acted upon a delusional streak. How were they to single out the liars ?

Arthur sighed, and rose from his seat. 'Knights, a patrol will be sent out as planned : Lancelot, Galahad, Dagonet.' He looked at each one of his men. 'I can not stress enough the importance of the capture of this murderer. Be very attentive… And be careful.'

Viviana bit her lip, glancing at her husband worriedly, but he smiled back reassuringly. The gathering was dismissed, and he walked over to her. 'I don't want you to leave' she whispered, as he took her hand, entwining his fingers with hers. 'I know' he murmured, leaning in to kiss her forehead. 'But it is my duty.' Viviana nodded reluctantly. She understood, and accepted, that Dagonet's loyalty would always be divided between his family and his brothers. After all, she too knew of duty.

* * *

The wind howled, sweeping over the green plains surrounding the fort, tearing at the banners at the gates ; cold was the day for the beginning of summer. Dagonet checked the girth and the stirrup leathers, and fastened his spare axe to the side of the saddle. Viviana watched quietly from aside, wringing her hands nervously ; noticing her distress, he caught her hands in his and pulled her closer. She immediately snaked her arms around his waist, her head on his shoulder. 'Don't go' she muttered into his somewhat uncomfortable spiked armour, and felt him shake his head. 'Viviana', he whispered, 'I can't.' She sniffed, and immediately felt a calloused hand under her chin, forcing her to look up. Dagonet gently wiped her tears away, caressing her cheek. 'Promise me you will be careful' she demanded, and he chuckled, but grew serious when he saw anger flash in her eyes. 'I promise I will come back to you and our child' he said gravely. Kissing her one last time, he mounted his horse and kicked it into a gallop, following Galahad to the gates.

Gathering her skirts, she ran to the Wall, climbing the stone stairs hurriedly. The view of the plains lay before her as she watched her husband ride away to the woods, waiting until he appeared to be nothing more than a small spot on the horizon.

Already, she wished he was back.

* * *

A heavy rain was pouring down on Camboglanna, and a lightening illuminated the dimly lit Healing Rooms as Vanora burst through the door : 'Viviana, hurry !' she cried, pulling the astonished midwife by the sleeve. 'It's Ahern !'

Viviana set down the pot of salve she was holding at once. 'What has happened ?' she panted, running in the mud to keep up with the red-haired woman, but received no answer. Dread was rising in the pit of her stomach, her imagination supplying dreadful scenes, and possibilities of awful accidents. Soaked to the bone, the two women pushed their way through a crowd gathered at the gates, and Viviana gasped at the scene.

Ahern and Gilly were rolling on the ground, fighting fiercely in a whirlwind of fists and kicking feet, pulling each-other's hair, biting and scratching to draw blood. This was no mere brawl between children ; they were struggling with all their strength, fighting for victory, and the weakest one's complete submission. Gilly was bigger and heavier, and placed a well-aimed punch into the grey-eyed boy's face. Viviana heard distinctly a nose break, but Ahern did not seem to notice the blood that was flowing down his face. He sank his teeth deeply into Gilly's neck, tearing out flesh as the boy howled in pain. He used this momentary distraction to gain advantage, rolling on top with a hoarse cry. His small fists struck Gilly's face, bruising, drawing blood, and Viviana saw his eyes close in unconsciousness. 'He is going to kill him !' moaned Vanora, wringing her hands in despair. The woman seemed to be at a loss about what to do, for this was no ordinary tavern fight ; there was more than just drunken anger involved.

But Ahern continued the beating, yelling incoherently, and Viviana finally recovered from the shock. 'Ahern !' she screamed, launching forward, 'Stop it !!' The boy paid her no attention, and she had to circle his waist, dragging him away from his defeated adversary. But the boy was too enraged, and too strong for her, and he writhed out of her grip, determined to launch himself upon Gilly once again. Thankfully for Vanora's son, Bors arrived, panting, and held Ahern's arms in his back. 'Calm down, boy !' he bellowed, and Ahern obeyed finally, sinking to the ground like a puppet. Gawain came running seconds later, his axe in his hand, prepared for an attack, but frowned upon seeing the carnage.

Through the soaked curtain of her hair, Viviana saw Vanora pick up her son, crying at the sight of his wounds, stroking his bloody face tenderly. 'You allright ?' murmured Tristan, and she nodded absently. She could not describe her shock about what they had all witnessed.

Bors was still holding Ahern, shaking his head at the damage. The boy seemed to be sulking, unconcerned by his injuries. He glanced at Viviana, his eyes burning in silent challenge. She noticed Siobhan standing nearby, her wet dress clinging to her small body. The girl was clutching her favourite doll, but the toy seemed to be torn, the head hanging by a few threads. The girl watched Ahern in silence, and he returned her gaze, but his bruised face softened somewhat ; suddenly, Viviana understood. She knelt in the mud beside the boy, lifting his chin so she could look into his silver eyes. 'You defended her, didn't you ?' she whispered, and he nodded, still wary. She sighed. 'You could've killed him, Ahern.' He scowled, but nodded in understanding.

'Vanora, Bors, I am so sorry' she pleaded, struggling to find the words to tell them how much she regretted her foster son's behaviour, but Bors shook his head, his face grim. 'Gilly asked for it' he growled, glaring at the bed where his eldest son lay, bandaged and asleep. 'He was bullying that girl o'yours, Siobhan.' The stocky knight sighed. 'A mighty beating he received too, and I ain't complainin', but that boy…' He looked her in the eye : 'Almost killed him, the little devil ! He's evil, I tell ye.' Viviana shuddered at the tone of his voice. 'Mark my words' he whispered, 'That boy will bring ye tears.'


	8. A Secret Wound

Sorry it took me so long to update this, but I was experiencing a bit of a writing block, and was stuck in the middle of this chapter. Hopefully, the next chapters should come easier.

Thanks to all those who added Innocent Weapon to their Alert list... let me know what you think about the progression of the story ! And of course huge thanks to those who reviewed. Enjoy !

* * *

- 8 / A Secret Wound -

'…And he thanked the Elvenking once again, as their ways parted, and after a long journey Bilbo finally returned home, to his beloved Shire' concluded Viviana, pushing carefully a stand of blond hair that had strayed onto Siobhan's cheek. The little girl was fast asleep, her long lashes casting shadows upon the delicate face in the light from the candle. The young woman glanced to the other bed, only to see Ahern's bright eyes staring back at her. The boy's face was a mask of complete attention, as he listened raptly to her words. 'Aren't you tired ?' she whispered, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He smiled and shook his head vehemently, hoping that this answer would earn him another story. Viviana sighed, pushing him back gently and pulling up the covers. 'You should be' she stated sternly, hoping he's get the message and fall asleep.

But he wriggled under the covers as she extended a hand to caress his cheek. 'Good night' she murmured, getting up as she prepared to leave. A small hand grasped hers : 'Don't go !' whispered Ahern urgently. He cast a fearful look to the door. 'Don't leave me !' She glanced to the door herself, checking that there was no threat there. But the room was quiet and peaceful.

The boy had been difficult since his arrival, always doing whatever he could to go to sleep, and she would've dismissed it as typical childish behaviour, or even felt annoyed by Ahern's caprice, if there hadn't been, in his voice, something so genuinely terrified. 'Ahern, you must sleep !' she argued, smiling, hoping that he would be reassured. Once again she didn't know how to act, and cursed herself for her lack of knowledge of children. She sat down on the edge of the bed again. 'You need to rest, you know this, don't you ?' He grasped her hand again, his eyes pleading for her to stay, but she pried the small fingers away.

'Good night Ahern !' she whispered, walking to the door and glancing one last time at his scared face. 'I'm leaving the candle so it's not so dark in here, what do you think ?' she smiled, and he nodded reluctantly.

As she closed the heavy door behind her, Viviana wondered what kind of nightmares could be plaguing an eight-year-old boy. She lingered in the corridor, listening to the silence of the surroundings, in case a small voice would call for her. But no, not a whisper troubled this part of the fort, and she walked away slowly, still unsure whether she had done the right thing.

* * *

A blood-chilling scream echoed through the depths of the fort, a cry of pure anguish. It seeped through the old stones, fell down the stairs and slammed against the doors, raising the inhabitants from their heavy slumber.

Viviana jumped up in her bed, noticing once again it's unusual emptiness, and raced to the door. Some knights were already massing in the corridor, bare blades in their hands. 'Ynis…' mumbled someone, 'There's a troubled spirit at work, here !' Gawain swore. 'Is this bloody island ever gonna leave us some peace ?' he grumbled, running a hand though his tangled hair.

'Where did it come from ?' asked Viviana, wrapping her goose bump-covered arms around herself. She wished Dagonet was beside her ; but if the danger was inside the walls, at least he was safe on the patrol.

'From the sound of it, I'd say from their Christian Hell' mumbled the blonde knight, stepping further into the corridor. Suddenly, he grabbed a torch and, gesturing to the others to stay behind him, swung at the darkness.

'What is this, a surprise party ?' growled a blinded Tristan. 'Get this out of my face !!' 'Sorry, Tris' grimaced Gawain, 'But it's your habit of creeping up on people…' The scout snorted. 'What are you all doing here anyway ?' he asked, propping himself nonchalantly against the wall. 'Didn't you hear it ?!' murmured Viviana incredulously. Tristan lifted an eyebrow. 'The scream ! Woke us all up, here !' continued Gawain, but the scout shook his head. 'Coming straight from a meeting with Arthur. Lancelot will be here any minute.' To confirm his words, Arthur's second emerged from the darkness, looking very annoyed and slightly surprised. 'Go to sleep !' he snapped, 'You will need your strength !' He pushed his way past Tristan and Gawain, slamming the door to his room. 'Ass' the blonde knight commented dryly. He listened for a second, then turned around. 'Well, it seems no alarm has been raised. I'm going back to sleep.' He shoved the torch back into an iron ring on the wall.

And for the second time that night, a cry rang through the fort.

'Viviana !! Come, hurry !' called Bors, and the young woman broke into a run, stumbling on her nightgown, her heart hammering madly in her chest. She saw him from afar, standing at the door to Siobhan's and Ahern's chamber, his face bewildered. 'Damn doors all look the same… Confused'em all ! Came to see if the little bastards were sleepin', see, and…' his rough voice trailed away as he let her pass. _What is going on ?!_ Viviana thought, astonished, for Bors was too kind a man to wrong a child, let alone his brother's son and daughter.

She stepped carefully into the room. In the flickering light of the lonely candle, the young woman saw Siobhan's eyes, wide in fear, seemingly huge on her small face. The little girl was clutching her blanket, still a bit sleepy, and seemed to be fine, except for the scare. She turned her gaze to the other occupant of the room, and her heart skipped a beat.

Ahern's thin body was scrambled up in a trembling ball, crushed against the wall with all his might, as if the boy had wanted to pass through the stones, a desire confirmed by his bloodied fingers. When Viviana came closer, the strong smell of urine aggressed her nostrils. 'Oh, Ahern…' she breathed out, horrified by the sheer terror she read in his eyes. She sat carefully on the edge of the bed ; the boy recoiled from her touch. She tried again to reach out to him, into the pits of fear where he was wandering : 'Ahern, listen to me ! No one here will hurt you, I promise. Do you hear me ? I promise you that you are safe.'

A pair of sad, sad eyes looked up into hers, as Ahern regained some of his senses. 'He came again' he murmured, his voice hoarse. 'The night-man. He came for me.'

She shook her head vehemently, eager to make the boy understand that no one at the fort would hurt him again, not while she still breathed. 'That was Bors, Gilly's father, do you remember ?' she asked reassuringly ; he nodded reluctantly. 'He came to see if everything was allright. See ? He cares for you.'

Instantly, the panic returned into the child's eyes. 'No !' Ahern screamed, slamming his frail body against the wall in a desperate attempt to escape. 'The other man said he cared for me too ! That is was for my own good ! And he hurt me !! Don't let him hurt me again !!' Siobhan started to weep, scared by the sudden outburst ; Viviana was speechless, and the understanding of what happened to Ahern was seeping into her mind like poison. 'No, Ahern !' she cried, 'Not like that ! Not like what the other man did to you, Bors is a good man, I swear !' The young woman was afraid to touch him, fearing that the contact would only hurt him more ; finally, she overcame her hesitation and managed to grab him, tearing him away from the cold stone wall. She cradled him against her, overwhelmed by the extent of the damage that he had received.

She felt stupid, because all she had managed to come up with were some ordinary words of comfort ; she stroked his hair, tasting the bitter tears that ran down her face, while his small body was racked with uncontrollable sobs in her lap.

* * *

The rain tapped on the windowsill, a sound soothing in its regularity. From time to time, a stronger gust of wind would rattle the wooden shutters, making the inside of the small room seem even more cosy and warm to Viviana. She ran her fingers carefully through Ahern's hair, glancing from time to time at Siobhan's bed where the little girl lay, curled up in a ball under her blankets. She felt her adoptive son breathe regularly in her embrace, happy that he finally found peace and fell asleep.

The door opened slowly, and as Viviana looked up, worried, she saw Dagonet step into the room. The large knight was soaking wet, mud running down his armour in lazy rivulets, a pathway of water droplets forming with every step. He approached the bed carefully, and knelt beside it with a tired sigh. His silver eyes studied Viviana. 'I heard what happened' Dagonet murmured, his jaw clenching in repressed rage. 'Did he say who it was ?' His wife shook her head.

He stared into space for an instant. 'Is this why…' he began, meeting his eyes, and she nodded, an uncomfortable lump forming in her throat. 'He protected her.' Once again, anger crossed briefly Dagonet's face. 'I should've been there.' His shoulders slumped in defeat. 'I should've protected him. My son.' Viviana reached out cautiously, cupping his scarred cheek in her hand. She forced her husband to face her, an act so uncharacteristic for them both, and searched for words of comfort, but her heart sank. For she knew that empty words could not erase his guilt, his noble soul forever bleeding, because he failed his family.

Just like she was failing him now.


	9. Troubled Minds

- 9 / Troubled Minds -

Viviana watched helplessly as Dagonet exited the room, his posture indicating the misery he was in, a misery she ached to relieve, if only she knew how. She longed to follow, to soothe and caress, to kiss away the pain and crucifying guilt that was tearing him apart, but things were now different. Dagonet was a man, a strong, battle-hardened warrior. Ahern was but a child, and needed her too. The young woman hated this choice, but it was one she had to make.

Dagonet had always been there for her… Always, and no matter what she had gotten herself into : a mental trap of her own making, or a burning pyre. Not once had he hesitated to follow her ; and here she was, delaying her departure after him.

And she kept stroking her son's hair, in a slow, hypnotic rhythm destined to soothe her conscience, until the door creaked open. It was Tristan's way to announce himself, and the scout made his way to the centre of the room, his steps never disturbing the silence. He glanced briefly at the two sleeping children ; then his golden eyes rested on Viviana : 'Go', he said simply. 'Go to your man. He needs you.'

She opened her mouth to speak, ready to voice her doubts, for the scout would not betray her secrets : she held too much of his own. The unlikely confidant shook his braided hair. 'He needs you.' he repeated, softer this time, and Viviana looked at the sleeping boy in the bed. Two contradictory desires fought their battle in her mind. Finally, she shook her head. 'Ahern will get scared of you.'

No answer came, and the young woman looked up in surprise. The room was empty, and yet she didn't see the door open again. Her eyes searched the shadows, and she almost guessed the outline of the knight's silhouette against the wall. 'Wrong corner' came an amused voice to her left. Tristan leaned forward, so that his hair gleamed golden in the firelight. 'Won't get scared if he doesn't see me.'

Viviana smiled, a tired expression of gratitude. 'Thank you' she whispered, casting one last look into the silent room. But Tristan was hidden again, and if she didn't know he was there, she would've sworn the room was empty.

* * *

Dagonet stood at the window, still fully armoured, and gazed to the dark crown of forests surrounding the fort. The room was dark, despite the grey light rising on the horizon, a gloomy hue matching the healer's current mood. Viviana approached tentatively, and touched his shoulder.

The armour was cold beneath her fingers, and she could feel her husband shivering in the chill of the early morning. Viviana pulled gently on his tunic, facing him, and reached out to touch his cheek, forcing him to acknowledge her presence, to meet her eyes. He looked down : 'You should've stayed with him' he whispered, and she smiled sadly. 'You needed me. I came.' She cupped his face with both hands : 'Will you send me away ?'

He sighed, and shook his head reluctantly, smiling despite himself. 'You know I can never refuse you.'

'Good.' Her nimble fingers started to undo the spiked armour he wore, unclasping the massive buckles, pulling on the leather straps until the garment, heavy with water, fell to the floor. Dagonet stood before her, unmoving, the wet tunic clinging to his muscular frame. Viviana pulled on the leather laces, undoing them, and soon the shirt joined the armour.

Fingertips traced the lines of the muscles as Viviana ran her hands up her husband's chest, her palms warming the cold skin. Higher and higher, behind his neck, fingers entwined as she pulled him closer, resting her head on his shoulder. 'I love you' she murmured, hoping that this statement would bring Dagonet the comfort he needed.

He gave into the embrace, holding her cautiously. Viviana felt him sigh into her hair. 'I feel that I have failed him' he confided, his voice laced with disgust. 'I know' she whispered in return, placing a gentle kiss on his collarbone. Long did they stand in silence, tightly embraced, until he spoke again. 'I am so tired, Viviana. Tired of all this fighting, tired of stitching up the men I consider family, each time needing more thread. Yet I never say a word, for Arthur needs support – unquestioning support – and it falls upon me to speak the loyalty we all feel. But sometimes I feel this will never end.' Dagonet buried his face in the crook of her neck, seemingly ashamed of this quiet outburst. 'We are free men… But it seems that bloodshed is not easily washed off our hands. I wake up at night, remembering countless faces of men I have slain, knowing that someday my ghost will walk alongside theirs. And I'm scared, Viviana.' His voice was now a mere whisper against her skin. 'Scared that it might come before I see our child.'

Viviana said nothing, but Dagonet's distress scorched her, as a clawed hand caressing her heart. For she knew, with no need for words, how he felt about his previous life, and the current one : a necessary evil, to be endured in silence and with honour, as a knight should, until his comrades brought him back on his shield. But the father, the lover in him rebelled against this philosophy, and screamed its will to live, to enjoy what he had been granted : a small measure of peace. Dagonet suppressed this desire everyday, exerted his will each time he pulled on his armour.

He was every bit the knight of the legends, even though his name had not become as famous as Lancelot's or Gawain's. Every bit the hero, one of those who had the most to lose but who walked the battlefield to die anyway.

Marrying heroes is a bittersweet honour.

* * *

_A week later__…_

As Viviana marched through the nearly desert courtyard, she perceived the fear seeping from the walls of the fort ; the mutilated body of an animal had been recently discovered in the woods, dangerously close to the Wall, and though Merlin had profusely apologized afterwards for performing such a creepy ritual in these troubled times, the rising fear did not subside. The faces she saw were alert, eyes darting at the surroundings. The Woads residing in Camboglanna had spread the story of the bloodthirsty, light-fearing vampire living in the woods, and this peace of folklore did nothing to soothe the unease of the population.

Even the knights were tense, their feasts at the tavern quieter and shorter than usual. They had returned from their first search tired, muddy and empty-handed, only to look into their leader's eyes and to find guilt. Arthur was aching with his land, and Viviana knew that he felt he was failing his people.

Two other raids had followed, each one exhausting the knights a little more, and the King had had no other choice than to take the decision all of them now loathed.

To wait. To watch the woods from the relative safety of the Wall, to be mentally prepared for the fight against an unknown, unseen danger, a threat that could come from anywhere. The men became jumpy, this numbing expectation feeding on their morale as much as the helplessness of their leader.

Approaching the tavern, even more desert at this hour because of the recent events, the young woman searched the crowd of children playing quietly for Siobhan, trying to single out the little girl's blonde locks amongst the red- or brown-haired ones. She frowned when she didn't see the child, her heartbeat quickening in what she was sure was needless worry ; Siobhan was surely inside with Vanora. The tavern owner stepped outside, her hands on her hips. 'Viviana !' she greeted, a weary smile on her face. The eleven children she had with Bors grew restless when confined to the tavern's courtyard, and the income became thinner with no customers. 'What can I do for you ?'

Viviana scanned one last time the red-haired woman's progeny, certain now that her adoptive daughter was not there. 'Vanora, where is Siobhan ?' she asked, her voice strained with worry, and Vanora turned sternly to her eldest daughter : 'Three ! Where is Siobhan ?' The girl looked up, and then around, frowning as she obviously remembered the child she had been entrusted with while Viviana was at work. 'We played hide and seek', she said, her eyes darting from her mother to Viviana. A deep, cold feeling of dread waking up in her stomach, the midwife crouched by the girl : 'Where ? Where is she ?!' Three merely shrugged. 'You irresponsible little…' Vanora stopped herself, and looked at Viviana. 'I'm sure it's nothing, dear !' she whispered confidently. She can't have left the fort, and there are knights everywhere ! She'll be found in no time, you'll see.'

But Viviana was already running, fleeing to the one person she trusted above all, and whose help and wisdom she needed. She stumbled into the Healing Rooms, startling the young knight seated on one of the beds, a gash on his forearm. 'Dagonet !' she breathed out, her eyes wide in panic, and her husband turned abruptly from his patient. She flung herself into his arms. 'It's Siobhan ! She's disappeared !!' she sobbed, her fingers biting into his forearms in her need for him the understand the urgency of the situation. Dagonet immediately dropped the supplies he was holding, gathering her in his arms. 'Tell me', he urged, and she explained tearfully how she had left the little girl in the care of Vanora's eldest daughter, and had gone to retrieve her at the tavern at the end of the day, as she had agreed with Three. Then she burst into tears again, and the healer cupped her cheeks in his scarred hands : 'Viviana. Calm down', he spoke in his deep voice, 'We will find her.' Viviana clung to his desperately : 'Bring her back !' she cried, as he let her go and strode hurriedly out of the room.


	10. Gone

- 10 / Gone -

The knights were standing in front of the tavern, hurriedly dressed in full armour, faces determined and eyes blazing. Some of them were avoiding Viviana's eyes, ashamed to admit they were welcoming the action. Three had been questioned again, much more sternly, by both her father and Arthur, and now the King was giving orders for the search. Viviana stood aside with Ahern, wringing her hands nervously, trying to overcome the sickening feeling that something had gone horribly, irreparably wrong. She glanced at Dagonet, his jaw clenched, eyes burning with a cold fire. And in that moment she felt no pity for the enemy he'd encounter, insane or not, sick or not. He had taken Siobhan. Had dared to touch her precious little girl, who had already suffered too much so early in her life. A dark fury woke inside her, drowning for a while the feeling of despair.

The knights scattered, Dagonet glancing at her gravely one last time. 'Bring her back to me !' she whispered again.

* * *

The rumor spread like a putrid smell in the wind, the words passed on from mouth to mouth in a whisper. Viviana, who stood rigidly by the tavern, wrapped up in a shawl but trembling nonetheless, lifted her head. 'Found…' murmured the crowd gathered around, openly curious about the outcome of the private tragedy. 'Found…' Brushing off Vanora's comforting hand, ignoring Guinevere's warning look, she gathered her skirts and took off towards the source. The crowd parted before her, allowing her passage, pitying stares following her ; she halted before the small church, and saw Galahad emerge from its dark depths, a haunted look on his ashen face. Her heart skipped a beat.

It couldn't be, she thought. Siobhan was all right. She must be.

Tristan followed the youngest knight out of the stone building, his expression hidden by the long braids he wore. Only once he glanced up, immediately locking his eyes with hers, pools of amber, pools of sorrow.

Tristan didn't lie.

A scream scorched her throat, torn from the very depths of her being, a cry of despair and protest, a cry of challenge to Death. Viviana stumbled towards the door, and Galahad lounged forward to stop her. He grabbed her tightly, trying to pull her away, but she fought with all her strength, clawing at the leather of his armour, crying out : 'Siobhan ! No !!' She writhed out of his embrace, and shot past Tristan into the church. The scout made no move to stop her.

She slowed down in the dimly lit nave, stepping carefully, her initial shock and adrenalin subsiding ; she braced herself for what she was about to see, for the wounds, the blood, so mismatched on Siobhan's small, fragile body. The rest of the knights were gathered near the altar. They all looked up upon hearing her unsure footsteps, and stepped aside silently, revealing Dagonet's figure kneeling beside a small body.

Siobhan lay on her back, her long, golden hair sprawled around her pale face like an aura, her lifeless eyes staring to the painted ceiling, the trail of tears visible on her dirty cheeks. Viviana knelt beside her husband, and reached out to touch the cold skin with her fingertips. Oh, how she longed to see those small, blue-tainted lips smile again… Dagonet reached out, his large hand covering for an instant the dead girl's face, and closed her eyes gently. The wordless gesture was a goodbye, and Viviana felt grief engulf her. It felt as if she was drowning from inside in ice-cold water, as if a thousand blunt, ragged claws were tearing her heart out. A howl escaped her lips, long and liberating, and Viviana cried for what felt like a few eternities, cradled in her husband's strong arms.

* * *

'Where is he ?!' growled Dagonet, hoisting father Cornelius by the front of his robes and slamming him against the wall. 'I don't know !!' cried the unfortunate priest, his eyes wide with terror. He tried to pry off the large knight's hands, his feet kicking helplessly above the ground. 'I swear to God, I don't know !' He glanced around, looking for help, but the knight's faces were stone-like, cold and unmovable.

Galahad propped himself nonchalantly against a pillar, the grace of his movements contradicted by the veil of bitterness in his eyes. 'Maybe he's the one who did it…' he drawled, drawing an approving cheer from Lancelot and Bors. Father Cornelius started to shake : 'No, no ! Please, I know nothing !! I swear ! Please !' he pleaded, trying to meet Viviana's eyes.

The young woman stood in a dark pool of shadow, eyes downcast. She felt heartbroken and weary, and craved the numbness sleep would bring, for it would relieve her of all sensation, at least for a while. She looked up upon hearing the priest begging for mercy ; her eyes were empty. 'There is no cemetery here', she murmured, her hoarse voice stumbling slightly on the noun. Her husband glanced at her, worry written all over his face. Dropping Cornelius carelessly, he strode to where she stood, probably thinking that the grief of Sioban's death had robbed her of her sanity. 'Except for the small cemetery outside for your brothers, there is none.' She locked her eyes with Dagonet. 'There must be catacombs, beneath this church. It is there that he's hiding.'

* * *

The torches cast an orange glow on the damp walls, drawing shadows from the asperities on the stones. The narrow spiral staircase descended deeper and deeper into cold, fetid darkness and silence. Viviana stepped carefully on the slippery stone steps, walking between Dagonet and Tristan, her eyes searching the black depths before them.

The view awaiting them below was surreal : the knights were standing in the middle of a maze of corridors, the walls of the passages pierced with innumerable cavities for the dead. Viviana groaned, covering her nose and mouth with a sleeve : the air reeked of rotting flesh and mold. 'He is here, somewhere', murmured Arthur, turning towards his men. 'Knights, be careful. Stay together.'

'Bloody Christians', muttered Galahad under his breath about half an hour later, as they walked between the burial niches. 'Why can't they just bury their dead properly ?' agreed Gawain, who was trying to get the spider webs and their inhabitants out of his hair. Viviana looked around, trying to suppress the growing sentiment of claustrophobia. The darkness surrounding them was oppressing, and the distant sound of water dripping from the ceiling seemed to echo loudly in the silence of the catacombs. Distracted, she bumped into Dagonet, who had halted as Arthur conversed with Tristan, at the front of the column. The knight half-turned towards her, extending a protective arm to steady her. His silver eyes were full of concern and sadness. He had tried to reason his wife out of this expedition, but his pleas and his arguments had fallen on deaf ears. Viviana knew he could've easily prevented her from coming with them, could've forced her to stay behind ; but the balance between them would've been disturbed, her spirit broken. He knew well that she needed to take action, because doing nothing could not be justified in front of Siobhan's death.

'We continue', called Arthur quietly from ahead, and they set into movement once again.

Suddenly, Viviana sensed more than she saw a movement on her left, an imperceptible breath of air in one of the niches not protected by a slab. Her heart leapt in her chest, and she dug her fingers into Dagonet's forearm. Wrapping his arm around her waist in the blink of an eye, he spun around, pulling her behind him, and lighting up the cavity. An ear-piercing scream echoed through the corridors, shaking dust from the ceiling. 'I got you, you bastard !' yelled Galahad, plunging an arm into the niche. He pulled out a thrashing body, and threw it to the floor. All swords were drawn instantly, and directed towards the wriggling mass.


	11. Mercy

- 11 / Mercy -

Viviana had braced herself for this moment, had imagined the monster, but the reality proved worse than her nightmares ; a strangled cry escaped her lips when she saw Siobhan's murderer.

Thin, bone-like fingers white as snow, that looked so fragile, save for their long, sharp nails. A skin so pale it was almost translucent, and white eyes. A screaming, bleeding mouth with no lips, teeth seemingly bared in an involuntary snarl, a crown of silver hair. Even the knights lowered their torches, appalled at the vision. The ghostly being lowered his arms, and raised a timid gaze to look at his attackers. 'I want my Daaaddy !' it cried ; its hoarse sobs chilled their blood in this underworld. 'Daddy, I'm ssssorry…' it wailed on, grasping mops of its hair and tearing them out, as blood trickled down its face. Galahad lowered his weapon. 'I can't do this !' he exclaimed with disgust. 'I can't strike him when he's weaponless !'

'Weaponless ?! You wimp !' hissed Tristan behind him, pushing him aside. His incurved blade was now pointing at the monster's heart. 'Child-killer. You don't deserve to live.' His face was blank, but Viviana guessed that a storm of emotions was raging inside, as always when it came to his brothers and their families.

The young woman looked around her : save Galahad, the knights' faces were cold and determined, their blades painted red in the lights of the torches, as a prelude to the feast of blood the steel was about to get.

The man on the floor seemed to understand his fate. He lowered his head, curling up in a ball in the stones, and wept quietly. 'I'm sssorry…' he whispered. 'I didn't want to hurt the little girl !! I only wanted to play…'

'Enough.' Dagonet's voice rang in the confined space. 'Let's finish this.' His eyes were sad when he swung his sword, intending to put an end to the man's misery in one merciful strike.

A battle was raging in Viviana's heart. The mother, the friend wanted revenge, and screamed for blood to be spilled. The reasonable part of her knew that the execution that was going to take place was selfish, and unnecessary : this man was dying, slowly and painfully, in their circle of fire ; he was repenting, in his last moments, about actions that he had not intended to cause, about deeds that he had been condemned to achieve even before his birth, when a wrong chromosome, carrying the gene of misery, was assigned to him. A losing ticket in the great lottery.

If he only had had a choice, the chance to live in another era… But he was born in times of darkness and fear. Misguided parents made him who he was. She wished she could forgive him for that.

But she couldn't.

The sword fell, and the creature's lifeless body sagged to the ground, a dozen crimson rivulets winding between the stones like a halo. Viviana fell to her knees, the last bits of strength summoned by the huger for vengeance now gone, the rush of adrenalin wasted away. She felt empty, and cold, oh so cold inside. Strong arms pick her up from the ground, and carried her through innumerable staircases and corridors. Viviana smelled her own scent on the bed sheets she was lying on, sensed Dagonet's presence beside her and heard his voice, but she could not summon any feeling from within.

* * *

When Viviana woke up, the sun was barely rising, a grey smudge on the horizon. The young woman dressed hurriedly, her hands trembling from the cold : the fire had gone out during the night, and she hadn't bothered to rekindle it, welcoming the numbness brought by the chill. Her throat burned, as if she was aching to cry, but no tears could come.

Dagonet was absent, and Viviana guessed that he had wanted to leave her some space to grief ; yet, she couldn't help but feel slightly abandoned. She slipped out of the room, passing quickly the long, dark corridors ; the fort was still sleeping.

Viviana was glad at the solitude ; it bought her some time to compose herself a decent behaviour, a mask that the others wouldn't pity. She strode through the courtyard, and into the Healing Rooms ; life went on, or so it was supposed to be, and she had a lot of work to do.

This is how Vanora found her, several hours later : the fiery-haired woman stared at her in shock, her red-rimmed eyes taking in Viviana's determination, her swift movements and her blank face. 'Oh, dear !' murmured the tavern owner, 'Do you know everyone's lookin' for you, up there ?' The young woman didn't acknowledge this statement, trying to block out the meaning of the sentence ; the last thing she needed right then was the sympathetic, pitying gazes, the horrified whispers behind her back, as if it was she who had died, as if her sorrow was some fascinating and contagious disease.

'Come, you poor thing' cooed Vanora, taking her by the shoulders and trying to lead her outside. Viviana shrugged the warm hands away. 'Nonsense' she replied calmly. 'I have work to do. I know Dagonet will understand.' The concerned woman stood there for an instant, unsure of how to react ; finally, she picked up her skirts and scurried out of the room. Viviana resumed her work, pouring all her energy and concentration into her task.

Once again, she heard footsteps behind her, and ignored them pointedly, until two scarred hands caught hers, and gently pried her fingers away from the bandages she was holding. Dagonet's gestures were slow, soft, as if he was unwilling to scare her away, like a wild animal. Then he rested her hands on his chest, pulling her closer, sheltering her in his embrace. A knot formed in her throat, and anger rose within her that she should be handled like a small child. The young woman struggled against him, first unconvincingly, then with increasing rage, really trying to break free, but not quite understanding why. But Dagonet was so much stronger… He endured the assault without a word, and held her tightly, almost crushing her in his arms. Suddenly Viviana realized that it wasn't him she was fighting, that her anger was grief, and her indignation, denial.

She grabbed his tunic with clumsy fingers, marking the skin beneath, sagged in his arms, and the pain in her became unbearable. Her grief came spilling forth in the form of hot, salty tears that soaked the shirt she was clutching, while Dagonet held her, whispering into her ear soothing words she would never remember.


	12. In Memoriam

- 12 / In Memoriam -

The storm had passed, leaving none of them unharmed, but still it was gone.

The world kept on spinning, the egoistic flow of life kept going, one loss insignificant in the face of thousands. The island's earth was sated with the blood of those who had died, and they were many. Siobhan was but a face in the crowd.

The wooden cross was beautifully carved, a work of Tristan, who had surprised everyone by the gesture. It stood in the middle of the war cemetery, small and delicate, surrounded by the blades of the knights' fallen brothers, as if the swords of the brave were meant to protect the little soul in death. Viviana knelt with difficulty on the grave, her rounding stomach making the movement difficult. She glanced at the crown of flowers in her hand, remembering suddenly an old custom from her land, where girls would cast such ephemeral ornaments to the river, to be caught by their future beloved ones. Viviana smiled, remembering the evenings with her little sister, when they used to laugh while entwining the flower stems into a green braid, the games she played with Siobhan, and the tales she used to tell her. Little instants of joy, precious moments that would never fade.

Ahern knelt beside her, glancing anxiously at her face, and caressed clumsily the flower crown with his small hand. 'Has she gone to a better place ?' he asked, 'Because Father Cornelius says so.' He seemed to think for an instant. 'Galahad says it's bullshit.'

'Ahern !' came Dagonet's stern voice. The healer glared disapprovingly at the youngest knight, who grinned back sheepishly. 'You will not speak so in front of your mother. And especially in a place like this.' The boy lowered his head, disgruntled. 'Yes, Pa.'

'And you' growled Dagonet, approaching Galahad, 'I'll kindly ask you to refrain from such… liberties… in front of my son.'

Viviana walked under the sun, stepping carefully on the long, lush grass that grew around the swords, leaving behind the knights' bickering and the solemn whispers of the children. She came to a small hillock of earth, set aside from the ceremonial cemetery. There, in the shade of an old oak tree, stood another cross, made of two small wooden planks tied together with a rope. A nameless grave for a nameless being.

She knelt once again, and laid another crown on the grass. The gesture held no love, but it was not a tender feeling that had brought her here. For it was her wish for him to be remembered, as a reminder against ignorance, against blind fear, and against her own demons. For she had allowed this man to die, no – requested it. Viviana was no hypocrite : she did not pretend that his death brought her any deep regret, but could not deny that it stirred shame inside her, and guilt.

She had pretended to be civilized, educated, reasonable… That mask had been torn down that night, when all she could think about was her mindless hunger for vengeance. Stripped of all pretence, she had seen herself as she really was : selfish, stubborn, proud.

She must not forget what she was capable of.

The wind blew gently on the plain, and the earth beneath her was warm, full of energy, and the air itself seemed to carry sunlight. Viviana looked up, to the ancient oak tree that provided shade for this particular grave, and that sheltered a myriad of living beings. How ironic that life should feel so present here.

She missed Siobhan, missed the laughter and the curious, silent stares. She would regret her forever. But no life is possible without regret, and the moments they had shared had been worth a thousand grieving minutes.

The young woman lay a hand on her stomach, almost feeling in her palm the minuscule heartbeat of her child. How she was impatient, now, to hold this being, to wonder at its perfection, to laugh at its adorable clumsiness.

The storm had passed, and it fell upon them to rebuild the demolished homes, to replant, repair and to live on, gaining strength until the lightening stroke again.

* * *

"He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."

Friedrich Nietzsche


End file.
